


make me like winter

by lindenshield



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hints of Past Depression, M/M, Post-Canon, Recovery, St. Petersburg, these two are so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 06:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenshield/pseuds/lindenshield
Summary: “It feels like spring”, Yuuri says one day when he comes inside from the balcony. Viktor is still in bed, scrolling through social media notifications from overnight.“It does?” he answers absentmindedly.---Feels like spring, he thinks while the water drips from his hair to the floor. He can’t imagine what that could mean – in his experience, seasons don’t really feel. They are there, yes, which means using different kinds of clothes depending on the time of the year. He said that he likes all seasons, which is partly true – he doesn’t like any season more than another. Still, the feeling isn’t fondness; indifference, perhaps.Viktor and Yuuri, St. Petersburg and the four seasons. Learning to feel again.





	make me like winter

**Author's Note:**

> Flashbacks are in cursive.

_There are no seasons inside the skating hall. There are no plants growing, no sun shining, no leaves turning warm colours. There is the ice of winter, but no below zero degrees or snow reflecting the natural light, so bright it hurts your eyes._

_Sometimes Viktor thinks he doesn’t even realise the seasons changing, somewhere in the world outside the hall and Yakov’s car that takes him to home to sleep. He runs through the streets of St. Petersburg but only pays attention to the meters turning kilometres turning strength._

_When he starts becoming internationally famous, everyone seems to associate him with winter – he has pale skin, silvery hair, blue eyes. And he’s from Russia, the country that surprisingly many people seem to think is always frozen in the depth of winter._

_Viktor’s not sure he’s ever really experienced winter, but nods when Lilia says that using people’s assumptions could turn out good for them._

_On the ice he is whispers of winter, soft snow on skin, frozen flakes on eyelashes._

* * *

 

“It feels like spring”, Yuuri says one day when he comes inside from the balcony. Viktor is still in bed, scrolling through social media notifications from overnight. Makkachin is curled next to his legs, fast asleep.

“It does?” he answers absentmindedly.

“It does!” Yuuri says as he lies back down on the bed, head resting against hands. He already has sweatpants and a t-shirt on. “I like spring, back home you could almost hear things growing”, he continues and smiles gently. Viktor puts his phone away and brushes Yuuri’s hair away from his forehead. He knows that smile – small and soft, always there when Yuuri talks about things dear to him. Like home, or his family, or Viktor. It hasn’t been long that Viktor has included himself on the list, and sometimes he still has trouble believing he belongs there.

“What’s your favourite season, Viktor?” Yuuri asks. Viktor continues petting his hair as he thinks.

“I don’t know”, he says. “I like all of them, I suppose.”

“Oh, right. Me too, they’re all nice. But there is something about spring…” Yuuri smiles again, but then stands up. “I’ll make breakfast. Wake up, Makkachin, there’s food for you too. Good boy, come on. And you go take a shower, lazy”, he adds, bows down to give Viktor a quick kiss and leaves the room. Soon there’s the familiar clatter of pans and pots, sounds of bare feet and big paws on board floor.

Viktor stretches his arms and gets up with a yawn. The balcony door is still open, curtains quietly swinging in the air that comes in. He feels a hunch of curiosity, but ends up going straight to shower like he’s used to. Even the phone breaks on the mornings when Yuuri showers first feel like luxury.

 _Feels like spring_ , he thinks while the water drips from his hair to the floor. He can’t imagine what that could mean – in his experience, seasons don’t really feel. They are there, yes, which means using different kinds of clothes depending on the time of the year. He said that he likes all seasons, which is partly true – he doesn’t like any season more than another. Still, the feeling isn’t fondness; indifference, perhaps.

“Vitya! Breakfast’s ready!”

“Coming!” he says, turns off the water and throws a robe on his shoulders. Yuuri is sitting at the table, reading an English newspaper – there’s a Russian one waiting for Viktor.

“Доброе утро”, Yuuri says without looking up. Viktor chuckles and kisses his forehead before sitting down.

“Soon we’ll be able to switch the papers”, he jokes as he opens his. Yuuri has been learning quickly and has little trouble with the accent, but still gets his letter mixed up. Viktor has caught him browsing through his bookshelf more than once, slowly muttering the names of authors and titles on the back of the books.

“Can we go out?” Yuuri asks as Viktor puts their dishes in the washer. Makkachin is on the fenced backyard, happily running around.

“Of course”, he answers. “To a restaurant? Or movies? Something else?”

“I meant just outside. To take a walk.”

“I thought we were supposed to take a break from training, but sure.”

“No, no training. Just – a walk. To enjoy the weather, it’s fifteen degrees already. I think there’s already some flowers.”

Viktor blinks, surprised, but hides it quickly.

“Of course. I’ll go put something on.”

They leave the apartment by foot, hand in hand, Viktor holding Makkachin’s leash. The sun is shining and drying the last remains of snow, now melted into brown puddles. Yuuri breathes in deeply.

“I love spring”, he says. “The air feels so fresh.”

“There’s dust”, Viktor says as a car drives past, sending up a cloud from the dry street.

“Even the dust feels fresh in spring”, Yuuri says and laughs shyly. “Are there any parks nearby?”

“I’m not sure”, Viktor says – he hasn’t lived in this part of the town before he and Yuuri moved here together, and also has no idea where the few parks he can remember the names of actually are.

“We can take a metro to one you like?” Yuuri suggests.

“Right. There’s… Katya’s little garden? But I don’t know which metro to take from here.”

“I’ll google.”

* * *

 

It doesn’t take them too long to get to the park. There are a few street artists already sitting on the sidewalk, offering to draw pictures of the tourists walking past.

“It’s beautiful”, Yuuri says as they get a better look on the park. “Oh, and there’s the library! How don’t you come here more often?”

“I don’t know”, Viktor says, feeling like he’s been repeating it all morning. He knows the library, even though he rarely visits it – he prefers buying books. The park seems somewhat familiar, he’s probably jogged through it plenty of times, but never actually looked around. Makkachin is walking around them like he knows this place – maybe he’s been here with Yurio, Viktor thinks. Despite his angry outside, Yurio has grown fond of Makkachin and often offers to walk with him.

“No flowers yet”, Yuuri says, a little disappointed. “We have to come back later in the spring. But look, it’s so green already.”

Viktor looks – at Yuuri, trying to search his face to know what he’s supposed to look at. Yuuri’s glasses are dusty but the brown eyes behind them are bright and full of joy, pupils small in the bright spring sun.

“What?” Yuuri says.

“What what?”

“You’re looking at me funnily. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just didn’t know anyone could like spring this much”, he jokes even though what he’s saying is completely true. Yuuri laughs quietly, a little embarrassed, like always when someone catches him with his guards so low.

“How can anyone _not_ like spring?” he says and waves his hand. “Look around. The sun, those little leaves, flower buds, water everywhere, the air…”

Viktor looks around, and for the first time, he thinks he sees.

“It does feel like spring”, he says.

* * *

 

_It’s never cold in the rink, and never warm either. His body goes from sweaty to shivery in minutes after he ends his performance, but that has nothing to do with his surroundings. He hides his silvery costume under the familiar red-and-white jacket and looks at world from the kiss and cry. He doesn’t smile – he’s a mystery, a journalist from the US writes later, magical like the moonlit winters in Siberia. Yakov grunts at that, muttering about how this boy has never been even close to Siberia and how there’s nothing magical about freezing to death. Viktor smiles, thinly, his lips not parting, and goes to run on a treadmill. There’s snow outside and Yakov doesn’t want to risk him slipping and breaking a bone._

_“_ _You should go outside, Vitya”, he still says as Viktor disappears towards the private gym._

_“_ _No running, but some fresh air would do you good.”_

_“There’s fresh air in the rink”, Viktor says and shuts the door. It’s the first time he talks back to Yakov, even in the loosest sense of the expression. The next day, it’s the first time Yakov promises to consider his opinions on the choreography._

_Two weeks later the snow is gone and Viktor runs outside, not feeling the difference between there and the gym, deep in his thoughts about the choreography._

_He wants more jumps._

* * *

 

 Viktor realises spring is over in the beginning of July, when summer is in all its bloom. He feels proud and embarrassed at the same time – this is the first time he remembers actually noticing that the seasons have changed without feeling too cold or too hot because of wrong clothes, but he feels like with how much time they’ve spent outside he should have paid attention earlier.

“Summer”, he says to Yuuri, who is sitting in the chair next to him on their balcony, his nose buried in a Japanese book. Yuuri adjusts his glasses with one finger and looks at Victor.

“What about it?”

“Nothing”, Viktor says and lets out a laugh. “I’ve never thought about it more than realising to take off some clothes when leaving the rink, not putting more on.”

“Oh. Yakov didn’t let you take a summer holiday?”

“He did”, Viktor says. I didn’t, he adds mentally. “What are you reading?”

“Murakami.”

“Again? Which one this time?”

“色彩を持たない多崎つくると、彼の巡礼の年. I don’t know what it is in English or Russian, though.”

“I’ll check it sometime. Want to go out?”

“To do what?”

“We could get drinks somewhere.”

“Can’t we just get something from the fridge? It’s so hot outside.”

Viktor laughs. “Come on, darling. I want to see summer.”

At that, Yuuri smiles and closes his book with a sigh. “Okay.”

* * *

 

They end up walking along the Karpovka river, the city alive around them. Yuuri points at buildings and monuments, sharing pieces of information he has read – he has read probably dozens of books about St. Petersburg written for tourists. More than once, Viktor has found him asleep at the table, glasses on and a pen in his hand, guide book full on circles and notes on the destinations Yuuri want to visit. Usually he laughs and carries Yuuri to bed, book forgotten on the table.

Now, with Yuuri telling him brand new things about the city he has called home for almost his whole life, he wishes he had picked up some of those books.

“This is nice”, Yuuri says as they walk under the big trees lining the river. “I was afraid summer in a city this big would be unbearably hot, but I like it here.”

“I’m glad you do”, Viktor says and squeezes his hand.

“I’m still happy we’re going to Hasetsu next week”, Yuuri laughs.

“Of course. It will be nice to see your family again. And I’m curious about the summer there. Altough I miss Makkachin already”, he sighs dramatically – the dog has been with Yurio at his grandpa’s since the beginning of the week.

It’s getting late – the sunlight has turned from bright to golden, the shadows are getting longer. The warmth doesn’t go anywhere; it lingers around them, feels like a touch on shoulder. They walk over a bridge and stop there to look at the dark water. They are both quiet, but the silence is familiar, calm like the water beneath them.

Viktor thinks back to spring when Yuuri kept pointing at all the things melting and growing and blooming, all the time changing. Now he’s pointing at building and monuments that have been there for dozens, some hundreds of years, steady in the storms of history. That’s what Viktor feels like, now, too. Steady and warm and like he’s ready to be here for the rest of his life. Summer is all around him, in the big green leaves on trees, in the butterflies flying around, in the happy voices of people on the nearby restaurant terraces.

“I love you”, he says quietly. Yuuri flinches, clearly awaken from his thoughts, but then smiles.

“Did you say that to me or your reflection?” he says playfully, and Viktor _loves_ him, he loves how relaxed Yuuri is around him, how unafraid, how at home.

“I’ll leave that to your conscience”, he chirps and starts walking towards the other end of the bridge. Yuuri laughs and follows him, puts his hand in Viktor’s hand again.

“I love you too”, he says, quiet enough for only Viktor to hear but with a big smile on his face.

They take the metro back home, dozing off on each other’s shoulders. It’s almost midnight when they go to the bedroom, but it’s still warm.

“I feel like I’m already sweaty again”, Yuuri complains as he steps out of the shower with a towel around his hips. “I hate summer. Do you mind if I sleep naked?”

Viktor grins through the state of half-sleep he’s already in. “I think I really, really, really like summer”, he says as Yuuri crawls under the light covers, towel thrown away.

* * *

 

_“Have you ever considered leaving Russia to train elsewhere?” the reporter asks him. It’s an interview for a magazine Viktor can’t remember the name of._

_“No, I haven’t”, he answers. “I have all I need back at home. I’m happy with coach Yakov.”_

_“And there must be plenty of ice to skate on”, the reporter laughs. Viktor smiles thinly._

_“I assume you got the inspiration for your last theme – winter – from your home country?” she continues._

_Viktor nods._

_“I found it very beautiful, you were like a male Snow Queen.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“What are your plans for the next season? Skating season, I mean. Perhaps another season of nature?”_

_“My plans are quite open, but I don’t think another season of nature is likely.”_

_“Oh, I understand. Russia is best fitted with winter, after all.”_

_“Seems so.”_

_“What about your personal life? Any news you’d like to share with your fans?”_

_Viktor’s thin smile doesn’t stir. “I’m afraid not.”_

_“You have been seen with Christophe Giacometti quite often. He was recently asked about that, but Mr. Giacometti claims you are just friends.”_

_“Mr. Giacometti is right.”_

_“Noted”, the reporter laughs and shifts. “I’m sorry, I had to ask. But, no boyfriend or girlfriend then?”_

_“No”, Viktor says, “I’m focusing on my career.”_

_“And that shows. You are a gift to the skating world, I’m sure many would agree. Thank you for your time, Mr. Nikiforov”, she says and gets up. They shake hands and Viktor leads her back to the door, promising to be in touch if he remembers something he’d want to share. As soon as the door closes, Viktor texts Chris._

_[from Viktor 13:49] just got off from an interview, French reporter, it is 26 degrees and her car had no air conditioning and _still_ she kept joking about how there’s always winter in Russia can you hear me rolling my eyes_

_[from Chris 13:52] it IS always winter in Russia my dear haven’t you heard_

_[from Viktor 13:56] oh sorry how did I forget!! the thermometer must be lying_

_[from Viktor 13:58] she also asked if we’re fucking and said you “claimed” we’re just friends_

_[from Chris 14:01] that is so insulting i said we’re BEST friends_

_A smile flashes on Viktor’s face, tight but genuine. He checks the (lying) thermometer again, thoughts back at skating – he couldn’t care less about the season, but he still needs to know how much water to bring to the gym._

* * *

 

“We should rake the leaves”, Yuuri says one day over a cup of coffee.

“We can have someone do it”, Viktor says and continues reading his magazine – he brought it back from Japan in the summer and has made it through a few articles.

“But it could be fun to do it together.”

Viktor puts down his magazine. “We don’t even have leaf rakes, dear.”

“They’re not expensive.”

“I can’t even use one.”

That makes Yuuri laugh. “It’s easy, love. I’ll buy two when I go get groceries today.”

Viktor pouts. “I guess I’ll have to.”

“You can leave your Japanese gossip for an hour, our yard is small. Makkachin will like it, he can play with the leaves.”

“Alright. I’ll do it. For Makkachin. Now tell me, _what_ is this word?”

* * *

 

“Here they are!” Yuuri announces and waves two leaf rakes in the air with one hand, one carrying a grocery bag.

“Right, right”, Viktor says. “You go start, I’ll unpack these. I _will_ come outside”, he adds when Yuuri’s face falls.

He doesn’t even try to be _that_ slow, just a little. When he gets outside, face almost hidden behind a scarf, Yuuri has already made a small pile – and by the looks of Makkachin, it used to be even bigger before a dog attack. Viktor smiles behind the fabric. The air is crispy, not actually cold but nowhere near warm. The few trees they have in the backyard are yellow and orange and red, and somehow the colours seem brighter than what Viktor remembers from the autumns he spent sparing them a look while getting from home to a car to the rink and back.

“It’s beautiful”, he says to Yuuri.

“I know. Be useful, darling”, he responds and hands Viktor the rake.

It is easy – Viktor has some distant memories of doing this when he was a child, waiting until the pile was big enough to dive in. He starts smiling and following Makkachin with his eyes, and when the dog starts racing towards Yuuri’s pile, Viktor yells – “Stay!” – and jumps to the pile himself. Makkachin follows him quickly after only a moment of hesitation, jumping on top of him and licking his face until it’s all wet. Viktor can’t stop laughing – he’s breathless, his stomach hurts, his hair is all sticky and full of leaves and he can’t stop laughing. He hears Yuuri giggle and soon there’s a third weight in the pile that no longer is a pile. Yuuri kisses his cheek and scratches Makkachin.

“Oh, you two”, Yuuri says, trying to sound desperate. Viktor still shakes a little after laughing so hard – harder than he even remembers. He grins at Yuuri.

“Oh, you”, he says and kisses Yuuri on the mouth. Yuuri kisses back, laughter between them, mouths open and tongues tickling each other, Yuuri’s hands going through Viktor’s hair and pulling leaves out of it, Viktor’s hands pressing Yuuri close, close, close to him.

“Shouldn’t we be raking?” Viktor murmurs against Yuuri’s lips.

“We can have someone do that”, Yuuri mumbles back and pulls Viktor’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“But it’s fun”, Viktor whispers. Yuuri stops moving and stares at him.

“You are impossible.”

“I’m your impossible?”

“Well then”, Yuuri smiles, “let’s get to work.”

“We can continue that later”, Viktor says with a wink as he helps Yuuri up.

“After hot chocolate?”

“God, I love you.”

“More than hot chocolate?”

“Could be possible.”

“Good. Me too.”

“Here. Rake. Quick.”

With the two of them, it doesn’t take long until the yard is clean, even with Makkachin chasing the leaves, their rakes, and them. Yuuri brushes Makkachin as Viktor makes the hot chocolate. He can see his reflection on the kitchen window, clearly enough to see his red cheeks and bright eyes. He thinks Yakov might have had a point, all those times he told Viktor to get more fresh air instead of sneaking to the rink even on his free days.

Still, that alone wouldn’t have helped – he remembers all those walks with Makkachin, jogging and counting kilometres almost exactly as he did before getting the dog, only with more stops. He loves Makkachin and has loved since he saw the puppy for the first time, but even Makkachin didn’t wake him enough to take in the world around him. Still, Makkachin saved many of his days by sleeping next to him, being warm and alive and a sign that he was able to feel something, even if it was just the dog’s tongue on his face first thing in the morning.

Yakov always seemed to like the dog, too, Viktor thinks and smiles at his reflection. Makkachin gave him the first push to do something with his existing. Makkachin – bumps towards his legs and barks, demands attention and wiggles his tail so hard it’s a wonder it stays connected to his body. Victor sits on the floor and runs his fingers through the freshly brushed fur.

“You ready yet?” Yuuri asks and sits by the table.

“Almost”, Viktor says and pours the drink to two big mugs. Yuuri breathes in the steam above his.

“Smells so good”, he mumbles. “I like autumns, you need no excuses for hot chocolate.”

“You never need excuses.”

Yuuri grins sheepishly and takes a sip of his drink.

“But I like autumns, too”, Viktor says and kisses the chocolate off Yuuri’s lips.

* * *

 

_Viktor re-braids his hair in the otherwise empty ice. All his rinkmates have left already but he wanted to practise his new jump a few more times, and was just about to get it right when his hair got all over his face and distracted him. The elastic had worn thin and broken, but luckily he had another one in his pocket – and even more luckily, he found the broken one on the ice so he doesn’t have to worry about it. He does a regular braid, not the fancy one he wears in competitions._

_“You ready to go, Vitya?” Yakov calls from the side._

_“Soon”, he answers and starts picking up speed._

_“You shouldn’t over-do it”, he hears Yakov say as he jumps, and then he’s flying and spinning and lands – flawless. He clenches his teeth. Once more._

_“Vitya.”_

_He stops._

_“You should always stop after a good one. That was a good one.”_

_He breaths in, shoulders high and hands fisted. He’s too tired to try to argue._

_“Alright.”_

* * *

 

_Yakov waits on the parking lot when Viktor gets out of the hall. There’s a cigarette hanging from his mouth, but he drops it on the ground before getting in the car. Viktor sits on the passenger’s seat and stares out of the window as Yakov starts driving towards Viktor’s apartment._

_The city outside is grey. It’s always grey._

_“You should get a dog”, Yakov says when he parks._

_“Thanks for the ride”, Viktor says and opens his door._

_“Vitya.”_

_“Yakov.”_

_“Don’t come to the rink tomorrow. Take a day off.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I’ll come check on you.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Bye, Vitya.”_

_“Bye, Yakov.”_

_Viktor gets out of the car and walks to his apartment, straight to the kitchen. He pours himself a shot of vodka and chugs it. As it burns its way down, he curls on the sofa and tries to figure out what to do with a day off. He hasn’t allowed himself one in years._

_He has no idea what he can find in the end of his home street that doesn’t lead towards the rink. He has no idea how he got out of bed this morning, or the morning before, or the morning before that. His mornings are grey. This city is grey. The ice inside the rink is grey._  

* * *

 

Winter this year comes slowly but surely – every evening it gets colder, every morning there are more icy flowers on their bedroom window. The snow doesn’t come with a storm, it comes slowly, little flakes flying through air daily until there are snowdrifts all over the city. Yuuri is excited to see the Russian winter, even though he has had his fair share of snow back in Japan.

Viktor doesn’t look forward to winter. He feels almost hostile towards it – it comes and freezes and kills everything, just when he had learned to enjoy the world that is alive around him. He doesn’t want winter, he doesn’t want grey mornings and reminders of his winter season, he doesn’t want the long dark nights that used to feel like nothing back when he didn’t remember all the colours they make him lose.

“I don’t like winter”, he tells Yuuri one night when they are sitting in front of the fireplace they rarely use. Yuuri is reading a book he picked up from Viktor’s shelf, a collection of contemporary Russian poetry.

“I thought you liked all seasons”, he says without closing the book.

“I said so, yes. I didn’t think much about any of them back then”, he admits. “I didn’t know what they felt like – but I know winter.”

“What does winter feel like?”

“Cold.”

“We can get you a new coat.”

Viktor sighs. “Lonely.”

Yuuri’s getting good at making him answer honestly without much talking – Yuuri’s getting almost too good at reading him, Yuuri says “I am here” and squeezes his hand and starts reading him poetry, in Russian with only few small thinking breaks.

* * *

 

“Let’s go out”, Yuuri says the next day. “Makkachin needs a proper walk.”

Viktor looks at dog that keeps bouncing around the apartment, not able to stay still longer than a few seconds. He sighs and nods.

“Where are we going?” he asks when Yuuri turns to a direction different than their usual route.

“Exploring”, Yuuri says and smiles, a little nervous, like he’s afraid Viktor will say no.

“Okay”, he sighs.

“I want to see this town all white”, Yuuri explains as they walk across the Turgenev Square.

“You’re trying to make me like winter.”

“I’m trying to make you see winter. I like winter.”

Viktor tries to look around more after that. It is quite beautiful, he must admit – there are lots of lights on windows and balconies, and the snow-cover over the city is unusually thick, compared to last few years. The shine is peeking from between light grey clouds and making the snow look like someone has dropped glitter powder all over the town.

“It is pretty”, Viktor admits.

“What’s that?” Yuuri asks almost at the same time and points towards a yellow house.

“What?”

“It looks like a dog”, Yuuri says and starts walking faster. Viktor follows him with Makkachin, now seeing what Yuuri means.

“It’s a statue”, Yuuri says and stops. Viktor smiles at the relief in his voice, even though he feels the same – it’s too cold for a dog to be outside alone, even Makkachin is wearing a coat. They walk closer to the statue to study it. There’s a bronze coat hanging from the wall with boots underneath it, and a dog lying next to the boots with a sad expression on it’s face.

“I think it’s Mumu”, Viktor says.

“Mumu?”

“From a story. Ivan Turgenev.”

“You’ve read it?”

“I think everyone has read it, everyone who went to school here I mean.” He stays silent for a moment. “It’s a sad story. I think I have it back home.”

Yuuri nods and takes his hand. They turn towards home like they’ve made a voiceless agreement. It starts snowing quietly, with the sun still peeking from small holes in the carpet of clouds. They walk over a frozen canal that has a few people skating on it. Makkachin barks at them, making Viktor smile. He can feel the warmth of Yuuri’s hand through their gloves, hear his quiet breathing under the slowly falling snow. The city is alive, but feels a little sleepy, like a child whose eyes keep falling shut after a day full of playing. Viktor watches it with fondness in his eyes.

* * *

 

When they get back home, Yuuri stays to take off Makkachin’s coat and to dry his paws. Viktor grabs a couple of oranges from the kitchen and goes to start the fire again.

“It’s supposed to be zero degrees tomorrow”, Yuuri says when they both sit on the sofa they dragged closer to the fire, with Makkachin asleep at their feet.

“It is?” Viktor says and starts to peel an orange.

“I want to build a snowman on the yard”, Yuuri says. “You can stay inside if you want to.”

Viktor smiles and offers him a slice. They eat in silence, listening to the fire cracking.

“I don’t think winter’s so bad, after all”, Viktor says thoughtfully.

Yuuri raises his eyebrows. “That’s – that’s nice”, he says, clearly surprised.

“Let’s build two snowmen”, Viktor says, grinning. “And a snow dog.”

Kisses taste like oranges, that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been to St. Petersburg even though I live like only 300 km away, [this website](http://www.saint-petersburg.com/) helped me a lot. 
> 
> As you probably guessed, Доброе утро (dobroe utro) means good morning. The book Yuuri is reading is called _Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage_ in English.
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are very appreciated. You can also find me on [tumblr](queen-thirrin.tumblr.com/), feel free to come say hi!


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